Round Here
by Casix Thistlebane
Summary: a beach, an evening, and an apology


a bit of angstyfic for ya (its short and vague; the  
best kind):  
  
title: Round Here  
author: Casix Thistlebane  
  
disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just the  
situation  
  
summary: a beach, an evening, and an apology  
  
Round Here  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
  
It was the look in his eyes that did it. That look  
that took her back a decade and a handful of years and  
made her heart ache that she couldn't be back there  
again with him. She could handle his speech and  
behavior most days, so long as she didn't watch too  
closely. He'd always been fairly childlike anyway.  
  
She had always dreamed of bringing her kids to this  
beach one day. She'd never thought of it this way.  
  
She bit back a reprimand as he dashed towards the  
waves in jeans and a smile, daring them to crash down  
over his head and make him shiver with salt. He could  
still swim, after all; better than many people she  
knew, especially in the ocean. He hadn't forgotten a  
single part of his twenty years, and even remembered  
his highschool classes better now than he could before  
the change. He could call up places and historical  
events at the drop of a hat and a few key words,  
though she'd had to remind him four times to take his  
sneakers off before he got out of the car and onto the  
sand.  
  
She watched him as he held his arms out straight to  
either side and traversed the changing line of the  
water and land in quick, dizzying steps, and wondered  
if he'd ever be him again.  
  
They had found him this way one morning, after he'd  
answered a call from his mother, asking him to go  
"deal with" his father. He'd left the night before,  
and no one had thought twice about it until he didn't  
come back the next day. They'd rushed over and  
searched the house until they'd found him, making  
mosaics with a deck of blood specked cards next to the  
bodies of his parents.  
  
The police had dismissed it all as another act of  
domestic violence; tragic yes, but not earth-  
shattering, and the paramedics had given him something  
for the shock and told them to make sure he got plenty  
of rest. He'd be fine soon enough.  
  
That had been over a year ago.  
  
Doctors since had declared it as anything from autism  
to schizophrenia, though none could determine the  
cause, and nothing they had tried helped. He prattled  
on and played all day, but clammed up if you mentioned  
that evening. He'd stopped talking about the spell  
after a week of researching had not turned up anything  
that could do that to him, but was prone to long  
silences, especially after dark, and had occasionally  
drawn unidentifiable symbols in the sand.  
  
She took care of him during the day with money the  
others provided and led her other life (such as it  
was) at night. In the twilight they would come here,  
and he would take on the waves.  
  
He approached as the sun flat-lined on the horizon,  
his sculptured body tanned and gleaming with sea  
water. His jeans were drenched, and his expression  
was serious. If it weren't for the starfish he  
clenched in one white-knuckled fist, she could have  
mistaken him for who he used to be. He usually looked  
gleeful and guilty on these evenings.  
  
He silently offered her the starfish and she took it  
gently, making as if to get up. He pushed her down  
with one strong hand and then sat, cross-legged with  
his back straight and his hands stuck between his  
legs.  
  
"You're sad again." His arms were so straight that  
they started to hyper-extend, showing the paler skin  
of the insides of his elbows. "I make you sad."  
  
"No." She used the starfish to make a pentagram.   
"You could never make me sad."  
  
"You're sad because I'm not me." He rocked on his  
hips and leaned towards her. "'Cause I'm not who I  
was."  
  
She smiled a little, tracing a circle beneath the  
starfish. "That's true. But I'm glad you're still  
here."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologize." She put a hand on his cheek and  
brought back dampness. She touched her lips and  
tasted salt. "Never apologize for who you are."  
  
"I'm sorry." She didn't know if he hadn't understood  
or was apologizing for apologizing. "I wish I could  
come back."  
  
She realized that the drops on his cheeks weren't all  
seawater and wrapped her arms around him.   
He leaned his head on her chest. "I'm trying."  
  
"I know."  
  
They stayed like that until the starfish on the sand  
glowed with the light of its kin in the sky, before  
turning back to the car.  
  
She had to tell him three times to buckle his  
seatbelt.  
  
The end 


End file.
